


Runaway Sky

by stardropdream



Category: X/1999
Genre: F/M, Food Sex, Incest, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were supposed to be making dessert for their father's birthday. Somehow it gets out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ January 29, 2011.

  
  
There is a difference, Fuuma thinks, between what is proper and what is improper. And he feels like he should know what the difference between moments are—proper or improper, but, usually, somehow, he can’t quite place it. One of the things he struggles with daily is his sister and how they’re meant to interact with one another, especially when, while preparing some desert for their father’s birthday the day after tomorrow, she reaches up to wipe some of chocolate off his cheek that’d somehow gotten stuck there during the process of pudding and cake. Her fingers drag slowly across his cheek in a way that shouldn’t have made his breath catch. But she smiles, turns her attention back towards the dinner, and then idly licks her tongue at the chocolate she’s taken from his face. And in that moment Fuuma realizes that he either has to leave Kotori alone to make desert on her own, or tell her to never do that again. And neither seems appealing, he realizes.   
  
And then she looks up at him, and their eyes lock.   
  
“Onii-chan?” she asks, quietly, sweetly. The way the light from outside plays across her hair is very pretty. She seems as if she is glowing. Her eyes are warm, as if asking something.   
  
Fuuma stares at her. Their father won’t be home for a while. He is working over at the shrine tonight. Kotori is watching Fuuma just as intently as he watches her, their eyes—the same color—staring up at one another. Kotori bites at her lip, slowly, and her face turns pink under the intense scrutiny, and something stirs inside of Fuuma that he knows he really shouldn’t be thinking or feeling. But he can’t stop.  
  
Kotori, slowly, gropes blindly for the bowl of melted chocolate, cradling it in her hands. She doesn’t take her eyes from Fuuma even as she dips into the chocolate, lifted two shaking fingertips, and smearing the chocolate across Fuuma’s cheek, from cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth. The chocolate is warm, but Kotori’s touch is even warmer. Fuuma feels warm all over. Kotori sets the bowl down, still not taking her eyes away from him.   
  
And then Kotori steps forward, so that Fuuma is pinned against the countertop and Kotori is leaning up, on the tips of her toes, her mouth pressing warmly against Fuuma’s red cheek, mouthing away the chocolate. Her lips are little pepperings across his face, her eyelashes fluttering, her face bright red. Her hands rest on his shoulders as she works, her mouth collecting the smear of chocolate. Fuuma’s heart is thundering, and he’s pretty sure that Kotori’s is, too.   
  
His hands fall to her hips, because he is not sure what else to do. She works down his cheek, starting from the cheekbone and ending just at the corner of his mouth. Her lips linger, and her breath is a stuttering gasp as her tongue touches at his skin, her lips passing against the skin and collecting the last taste of chocolate. Her lips stay there even once the chocolate is gone, though. She doesn’t move, doesn’t quite breathe. Her lips don’t move. They just stay pressed there against the corner of his mouth.  
  
And then the hands on her hips tighten and lift her up, and he shifts his face so that his lips are pressed against hers. She lets out a little gasp—perhaps a relieve sigh—and returns the kiss, her hands on his shoulders shifting and curling around his neck so that she’s holding on tightly to him. They kiss, Fuuma’s breath caught somewhere between his mouth and his throat, his mouth parted slightly to Kotori. She breathes out against him, her lips and mouth soft to the touch. He can’t taste the chocolate, but he is too busy focusing on holding her and kissing her to care for details like that.   
  
Kotori presses closer, and Fuuma’s knees buckle. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, Kotori halfway in his lap and still kissing him. Her hair spills over her shoulder as she presses closer, enthusiastic. His hands are still on her hips, and he grips them tightly as her hands knead at the back of his neck.   
  
She pulls away with a small gasp, finally, her face bright red. They are both breathing heavily, and they stare at one another.   
  
And then Kotori’s lips quirk into a hesitant little smile and she giggles. Fuuma doesn’t smile, but he feels his expression soften as he raises a hand to cup her cheek, stroking his fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. Her lips part just slightly, kiss-swollen, and he runs the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. Before he can pull away, she blushes further and kisses at his thumb.   
  
Her eyes open, and she leans away, just slightly, lifting to grab the bowl of chocolate again. She dips her fingers again and leans in close, her fingers tracing at his cheek and, this time, instead of stopping at the corner of his mouth, she smears her fingers over his lips. She leans in, kissing at his mouth, her tongue tracing at his bottom lip and, slowly, dipping inward so that she is exploring inside his mouth.   
  
“Onii-chan,” she says in a breathless moan against his lips, and Fuuma knows that they really are too far gone.  
  
Five minutes later finds them still on the floor, Kotori still almost in his lap. His one hand strokes her thigh over her long skirt, his lips against her shoulder as he kisses up melted chocolate she dapped there for him, her shoulder bared from when Kotori unbuttoned the first three buttons of her shirt, revealing her shoulders and the small swell of breasts. Her chest is heaving against him and her hands are clutching at his shoulders. Her skin is soft beneath his tongue and is proving fatally distracting to him. But not so distracting that he doesn’t notice the way she’s pulling his shirt from his slacks, her small, nervous hands tracing at the lines of his body up under the fabric. Her hands explore, hesitant and light against his skin. He does not shrug her away, and instead draws her closer, mouth still on her shoulder even with the remnants of chocolate long gone. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the part that isn’t focusing on the way Kotori’s hand is drifting curiously downward, or that his own hand is working through the folds of her skirt to feel the touch of her bare thigh, he thinks that there is something seriously wrong about having sex with your sister in the kitchen. But he also doesn’t care enough to stop.  
  
But one thought does stop him. He pulls away, just slightly, and whispers, “Your heart.”   
  
She shakes her head, pulling Fuuma’s shirt from his body, undoing one button at a time. “I’m alright.”  
  
He frowns, just slightly, but is quickly distracted as Kotori shrugs off Fuuma’s shirt, and then her hands, shy and nimble, grasp at the remaining buttons of her blouse. Their eyes lock again, and her eyelids flutter, as if tempted to close her eyes and turn her face away. She is red and flushed, lips swollen, chest heaving, and she looks utterly beautiful. So he watches her as she unbuttons the last remaining buttons, and he helps pull her blouse off.   
  
She shifts, her hips snapping, and his hand slips beneath her dress. She is looking at him, eyes half-lidded and wet, her mouth a tempting parting and her hair a mess. He strokes the plane of her thigh and moves ever upward and inward, and knows he will not stop and that she does not want him to. Her chest heaves between them, her breasts too small to make any spectacle out of it and the way she looks with her clothes in disarray and her upper-half naked beyond the bra. Her eyes are pleading with him. It was a look that belonged on someone else, didn’t quite seem to fit his little sister’s face, and yet at the same time, the part that was the most wrong about this, was that Fuuma had never been so turned on in his life.   
  
She smiles, still that hesitant, shy smile, that doesn’t suit the way her body curves when his hand slides over her thigh. “Onii-chan,” she whispers, voice quiet. “Onii-chan…”  
  
He leans in to kiss her, and she is sweet and open to him, warm and pleasant. His hand slides up her thigh and around the arch of her hip, following the line of her panties and settling along her backside, touch just as hesitant and unsure, but still there. Her hips jerks a little at his touch, and she sighs into his kiss. Fuuma leans in closer, pushing her down onto her back. Part of him wonders if they should move to one of their beds, but at the same time it seems wrong to leave this place, to go somewhere that is still innocent. It has already gone too far, but Fuuma only shifts, watching as Kotori raises her knees and parts her legs without prompting, giving him a full view beneath her skirt, before her fingers gingerly curl around the hem of her skirt and pull it up to her hips, exposing inch by inch of her knees and then her thighs, and then the roundness of her hips.   
  
It is the steadiness he’s learned throughout his years that his hands don’t shake (too much) when he reaches his hands out to curl his fingers around the fabric of her underwear and pull them off. Kotori bites her lip, looking up at him shyly, her grip on her skirt tightening until her knuckles turn white as he stares at her, and before Fuuma can quite take in the sight of her, he is leaning down to taste her.   
  
Fuuma breathes in, feels his breath catch, and breathes her in. He places his hands on her thighs, spreading her legs just a little, unsure what else to do. And then his hands slip closer, fingers brushing against her—slick and warm beneath his touch—and she is staring at him pleadingly, her eyes wide and hesitant, but desiring. She sighs out, bites at her lip. He feels his body jerk, just a little, and he presses his mouth to her and she gasps, loudly, and her body rocks. He presses his mouth to her and tasted her, felt the firm bone underneath the pillow of flesh, fingers exploring and his tongue working slowly.   
  
It is difficult to think straight, it has been since the moment chocolate touched his cheek. His world is narrowed down to his little sister, and that is all. He hears her quiet moans, tastes and feels her warm and wet, and feels the thighs surrounding his head tighten just slightly, muscles shifting. She sighs as he moves his mouth, exploring in broad strokes. She moans as he moves down to tease his tongue at her opening and keeps his eyes open, watching her for any signs of distress or disgust. She cries out and pushes her torso up, leaning back on her elbows and focusing all her attention on him. He moves at the slickened folds and licks at the pea-sized head there and her cries take on a more desperate plea, raising in volume and pitch.  
  
“Onii-chan,” she moans, clenching her eyes shut and shifting her head to the side so that her hair tumbles over one shoulder and hides her face. “Please…”   
  
He lifts his head, face burning red as he rests his chin on her stomach. He feels her panting beneath him, can feel the rise and fall of her body. He feels the tension in his body, can feel it mimicked in her body, as well. Then he leans away and continues his ministrations. He thinks he could stay like this forever, on his stomach, the throb of his cock pressed against the floor, his arms curled around Kotori’s thighs and keeping her open as she cries, hands reaching up to tentatively touch the back of his head and guide him closer, show him where it feels good.  
  
He waits until she comes, won’t think of himself until he knows she is satisfied. Her orgasm is a quiet, gentle kind—her moans are not loud as before, but softer. Her hips roll and jerk up, her fingers tighten in the short wisps of his hair, and her cries are a gentle chorus of _oh_. She stiffens under him, jerks, then collapses limply back onto the floor, the tension easing from her body and her body twitching just a little.   
  
He stays very still, and then crawls up to lie beside her. He gathers her into his arms, mindful of her, gentle with her. He can hear the stutter of her heart and fears she will pass out or worse, but she just smiles at him and clings to him. They lie there on the kitchen floor, half-clothed, without any words. They last that way for a few minutes, wrapped around one another. When he does pull away to look at her, she follows after him, kissing his cheek and then the corner of his half-opened mouth.   
  
She presses her mouth warmly to his, her kiss soft and chaste, alarmingly so given what they’d just done. And he almost feels the way her hand touches at his side. But he does not miss the way her hand drifts down, cups his hip for a moment, and then kneads at his body, dangerously close to where he wants to be touched. His body throbs.   
  
“Onii-chan,” she whispers and arches away from his lips, kissing him on the forehead, then just below one of his eyes. “You…” she begins, and then blushes as she smiles, wide and accepting and _Kotori._ “You should… ah. Um. Do what you want to do, if you…”  
  
His mouth feels too dry, but she’s smiling.  
  
“It’s okay,” she says, obviously seeing something in his eyes. “I’ll be okay.”  
  
He bites his lip and groans as that shy little hand folds between them, cupping him and squeezing in a move that seems almost too bold for Kotori.   
  
“Please,” she asks, “Just a little?”   
  
He can only manage a small little nod, and she pulls away from him. She climbs to her feet, one hand still curled in her skirt, which tumbles down over her hips and stops just below her knee. She offers her hand and helps him up, and they stand there looking at one another.  
  
And as they come together and kiss again, Kotori backs up, pulling him with her. She bumps into the counter, and her free hand not holding her skirts curls up around the back of his neck and draws him closer.   
  
And then she pulls away, blinking at him. She bites her lip, looking down as she uses both hands now to gather up the folds of her skirt, exposing her thighs again. His hands fall to her bare hips, pushing the skirt away. Kotori raises her eyes and smiles at him—and good god, she can still smile so innocently. But Fuuma suspects that the image of innocence he’d nurtured for so long is doomed at this point, but it’s still something he grasps onto. Better it be him, than anybody else. The only other person would be Kamui, but he did not know when they would see him again, if ever. And he thinks, between the three of them, it’s okay.   
  
His fingers tangle with hers as she leans over the counter, bracing herself against it, and spreading her legs. His throat is dry as he fiddles, one-handed, at his belt and pushes his pants down slightly off his hips. He steps up behind her, covering his body with hers. He kisses the side of her jaw, and she tilts her head, hair tumbling down over one shoulder and exposing the curve of her back. He kisses at one shoulder, and squeezes her hand.   
  
He pushes into her, and she is tight and her breath comes out in a quiet gasp. He waits, terrified, petrified. Fearing he’s hurt her, he almost pulls back again but Kotori squeezes his hand. Once she has relaxed beneath him, he sets a steady pace, moving his body rhythmically against hers. She answers by raising to her toes and sinking back down against him, at a pace that is slightly off from his, but somehow works.   
  
His body is far too warm and it takes all his restraint not to speed the pace, but his concern for her overpowers any desires to relieve himself, and he follows Kotori’s pace, pressing in and out of her. She spreads her legs a little to accommodate him, shifting against the kitchen counter to get more comfortable. He kisses at the back of her neck and the back of her ears, and she sighs out a few quiet _onii-chan_.   
  
It is only another couple minutes before Kotori emits another low, pleasured cry, her body jerking beneath him. She tightens around him and it is a few shallow thrusts later before he is spilling into her, feeling her body pulse beneath him. The hand clutching his tightens and squeezes and she moans out low, her cheek pressing against the countertop to try and cool herself down. Her hair is still a mess, but he thinks she’s beautiful no matter what. He doesn’t say anything when he comes, but he can feel things lodged in his throat, and he comes with a few jerky breaths and a breathless gasp. He pumps against her, until he is spent and still inside her.  
  
Slowly, he pulls out of her, body still draped over hers, protecting her. His hands fall away, and curl around her waist, holding her up. Her body is shaking, but she is not crying.   
  
When she turns her head she is smiling and touches his face. “Onii-chan,” she whispers, “I love you.”  
  
He nods his head, feeling too overwhelmed to say much of anything, and he noses into her hair, kissing at her ear and jaw and then her lips again, sweet and chaste again.   
  
She touches his face, whispers that she loves him a second time, and then helps him collect their discarded clothing. He helps her shrug back into her shirt, buttoning up her blouse slowly and helping smooth back her hair so that she does not look as if she has just had sex in the kitchen with her brother.   
  
He leans forward and kisses her nose, because it somehow seems appropriate. And she giggles, pulling her underwear back up and under her skirt. His throat is still too dry.  
  
She touches his cheek, follows the line of his jaw, and pads her fingertips over his lips. And then she helps zip up his pants and redo the belt, then into his shirt. She tucks the shirt back in for him, and smoothes her hands over his front and shoulders, making sure he looks presentable.   
  
There is something eerily calm about how they seem to function as if nothing has happened. And yet, at the same time, he does not miss the way Kotori’s expression is warm as she watches him, and as they hear the front door open and their father return home, she takes his hand and kisses at the knuckles.   
  
“We… should do that again,” Kotori says, shyly, her face a pretty pink color, “Soon.”   
  
Fuuma can’t help but agree.


End file.
